Chasing Zoey - Continued
by imcurrentlyprocrastinating
Summary: Tying up all of the loose ends from Chasing Zoey, beginning with the night of the prom and continuing on into the days following. There is a main focus on Quogan, but most other storylines will also be addressed in detail.
1. Chapter 1 - Prom Night

**Hey guys!**

**So, I know I'm not the only one who was left with a ton of questions after Chasing Zoey ended. So, this fic is my way of answering my own questions. This first chapter basically fills in some of the scenes I felt like were missing from the episode, but this is in no way the end of the entire story. I anticipate there will be 3 more chapters after this one, so don't go worrying just yet if you notice there were still some loose ends that needed tying up. I promise they will most likely be addressed in future chapters. **

**Side note, it might be a good idea to re-watch Chasing Zoey before reading this if you are a little fuzzy on some of the details! But even if you don't watch it again first, don't worry, this fic will still make sense. **

**This is a quogan-centic fanfiction, however it does address other storylines, and it gives attention to most other characters as well.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Zoey 101 or any of the show's characters. **

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Her lips tasted like an overly moisturized mixture of fruity lip glosses. It was not at all pleasant, and neither were the emotions he felt as she kissed him. Shock, disgust, anger, guilt…this was wrong. This was _so_ wrong. He had a girlfriend for crying out loud. Enough of this. He really didn't want to do so much as even touch her, but he had to get her off of him. He pushed her shoulders back and squirmed out of her grasp, wiping away any of her spit from his lips. _Ew_.

"What's wrong?"

_God Stacey, wasn't it obvious?_ He thought.

"I don't wanna kiss _**you**_!"

She seemed more clueless than she should have been by this point in the night.

"Why wouldn't you wanna kiss me? My lips are moist."

_Yes very. Too moist. _

There were so many things he could have said to her. But as he thought about all of them, every feeling he had, met together in his brain to form one sentence. And he said it without hesitation.

"Because I love _**Quinn**_!"

Silence. He was sure he could hear an actual cricket chirping in a bush somewhere. Or maybe that was the ringing in his ears. He felt heat rise up through his entire body, which contradicted the chill that ran down his back. His words hung in the air and he knew every eye in the room had turned to look at him. He felt panic setting in now.

"wa-what?" Her words were piercing validation that he had in fact just yelled something loud enough for the whole prom to hear.

"You love Quinn?" He was indistinctly aware that the judgmental voice coming from behind Stacey was the voice of a past football teammate. Yep. It was real. He'd said it.

He thought for a moment about what to do next. He glanced nervously at the reactions forming around him. He could take it back. He could tell everyone that he would have said anything just to get Stacey off of him. He could say that it was a joke.

But as more and more excuses clouded his head, he suddenly found that the option that seemed the most appealing to him, was the truth. He saw the opportunity to finally have the weight of this secret lifted from his shoulders. It was liberating. In the span of a few seconds, his panic converted into confidence.

"That's right!" He asserted. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd have to deal with their opinions at some point, but right now, he was too sure of himself to care.

However, there was another problem. Quinn.

In the midst of the scene he was making, he hadn't stopped to consider what her reaction might be to all of this. He whipped around to look over at where he knew she was sitting with Dustin. To his worry, she looked rather petrified as she scrambled to stand up from her chair.

He tried to speak to her with his expression.

_I'm sorry for exposing us. I'm sorry for saying that I love you for the first time, in front of the whole school. I'm sorry that now you have to decide what to do because people are looking at you, too. _

Oh man, he had _really_ said I love you. Not "I'm dating Quinn," not "I like Quinn," but "I_ love_ Quinn."

He'd definitely never said that to a girl before. _I love you _implied commitment. It implied being with someone for more than the superficial perks of dating. And it was _so _cheesy. He hated when googly-eyed couples went around saying I love you to each other every five seconds.

But he wasn't thinking about all of that when he said he it. He was thinking about seeing Quinn, crying on a bench, looking nothing like herself, and how upset that made him feel. He was thinking about how every time he kissed her, his stomach flipped over. He was thinking about how guilt-ridden he became when he could tell she was genuinely mad at him. He was thinking about how many times she'd made him laugh, just by listening to _her _laugh. He was thinking about how she was the only person in a really long time, who was able to convince him that being vulnerable wasn't always the same thing as being weak…which was ironic, because in this moment, he was extremely vulnerable.

It was abruptly clear to him, that saying you love someone does not mean that they will love you back. Logan had always been one to believe he was desirable. He clung to his good looks and his healthy wallet for dear life, but because love wasn't exactly something he'd gone out in search of in the past, he had no way of knowing if Quinn's desire for him had turned into love over time. She knew a lot about him that most people didn't, and she hadn't left him yet. Maybe that counted for something.

He could see that she was unsure of where to go from here. Her eyes darted around as she tried to gather herself. The brief smile on her face seemed to appear out of awkwardness before she brought her eyes up to meet his, looking uncertain.

"I love Quinn Pensky!" He declared it for good measure. He directed his words more to her this time than to the crowd. He wanted her to know it was true, that he hadn't just spoken out on impulse after being attacked by the lips of Stacey Dillsen. Maybe she would be embarrassed. Maybe she would be mad…surprised, happy, indifferent…who knows, maybe she would even love him back. But at least she knew the truth, and now so did everybody else.

Her uncertainty quickly turned into elation. She couldn't believe he had done what he just did. She thought about the many times she had started to question the benefits of keeping their relationship a secret. It was hard to be embarrassed of the person you were dating. How could you really convince someone that you wanted to be with them when you'd just as easily shove them behind a door to keep from being seen together? After a while, it started to weigh on her. She felt bad for Logan, she felt bad for herself, and she still had the recurring fear that the pressure of it all would end up being more than he wanted to deal with. She wanted so badly to be special enough to him to make the opinions of others seem unimportant.

And here he was, confessing his love for her in a courtyard full of their peers, who were now all looking at her for a reaction. It didn't take long for her to know exactly what she wanted to say. She'd kept it to herself for long enough.

"And I love Logan Reese!"

Logan could have screamed he was so relieved. She loved him. As the adrenaline finally started to leave his body, he became aware of his heartrate trying to slow as it pounded against his chest, and the tingling sensation that worked its way across his limbs. Breathing felt easier. He felt lighter.

Quinn could hear Dustin accusing her of using him, but as he slammed his cards on the ground and walked away, she couldn't bring herself to feel phased enough to take her eyes off Logan.

For them, it felt like they had just come out of a dark tunnel they weren't sure they'd ever reach the end of. They were free. Free from the secrets, free from the lies, free from the supply closets, free from the hiding spots tucked away behind the bushes, free from the fake, hurtful comments and purposefully sitting on opposite sides of the table during lunch. Completely free. It felt as good as anything ever had.

As they made their way towards each other, Logan was vaguely aware of Stacey following after him in desperation. Given how things had turned out, he would have actually considered apologizing to her, maybe even thanking her, had he not been so focused on Quinn.

The kiss they shared was one for the books. It was a blur of his hands pulling her hips in close to his and her hands delicately cupping at the sides of his face. He felt that familiar feeling deep in his gut that was so excruciatingly wonderful.

_Let everyone stare, they don't know how lucky I am to have you. _It was a thought that seemed to play on loop in both of their minds as they continued to kiss for long enough to lose the interest of most onlookers.

At some point, the band picked back up again, coaxing the majority of the crowd back into dancing.

As they started to run low on oxygen, Quinn broke away first and pulled him gently over to the side. She looked at him with stars in her eyes.

"You love me?" She smiled up at him. Not that he hadn't been fairly convincing when he yelled it from across the dancefloor, but it all felt so surreal that she needed to confirm.

"That's what I said." He smiled cheekily, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

She shook her head at him in wonder. In less than a few minutes, this night had gone from terrible to one of the best nights of her life.

Then, for a instant, reality struck her.

"What about everybody else?" She gestured over to the crowd. "What are we gonna do when people remember this in the morning?"

He watched as the rest of their class pulled their dates out onto the floor. They all looked happy. Carefree.

"We deal with it." He took her hand in his. "But right now, I say we dance."

How fantastically appealing that sounded, finally getting to dance with her boyfriend after watching him get unwillingly drug around by Stacey all night, as she struggled to babysit her own date.

So she agreed, knowing the mistreatment from others was an issue they would eventually have to face. But for now, the night was theirs, deservingly so.

As they walked together hand in hand, Lisa made her way over to them, smiling brightly.

"I just wanted to tell you guys that I'm really happy for you. It's obvious how much you care about each other, and I think you make a great couple." She waved her hand subtly and dismissively at the large mass of students off to their side. "Don't listen to people who don't know what they're talking about."

Lisa always knew what to say. Her kindness was reflected in her tone, but it was never so kind as to undermine her honesty. She meant it, and they each thanked her with genuine appreciation.

They navigated their way back into crowd and caught a few eyes as they did so, but no one went as far as to stop what they were doing to say anything. At last, they were left to dance in peace.

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Quinn looked up to see a pack of promgoers filing their way into the entrance. She could make out Stacey's flamboyant pink dress, but she couldn't quite wrap her head around the boy whose arm she was latched onto. Was that…Mark? Before she had time to produce a second thought, she caught a glimpse of Zoey, wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she'd had on earlier that day. But who was she walking besi—

"Oh my God!"

She slapped Logan's chest repeatedly to get his attention.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" She pointed in the direction she was looking in. "It's Chase!"

"WHAT?" He asked again, obviously having heard her.

He grabbed Quinn's glasses from her face and put them up to his. He had just enough time to spot Chase's bushy head of hair before she snatched them back from him, flicking him on the shoulder.

"Oh my God. It _is_ Chase." He said in astonishment.

"Chase!" They both called out to him, waving sporadically. He smiled over to them as he walked closer, picking up his pace and stepping out into the front of the group.

They ran to meet him halfway, almost knocking him over as they hugged him simultaneously.

"Hey guys!" He greeted them with his typical awkward charm.

"Dude!?" Logan half-shouted.

"What are you doing here?!" Quinn asked, finishing Logan's thought for him.

"What? A guy can't catch a casual eleven-hour flight back to PCA in time to make it to prom an hour-and-a-half late?" They both looked at him in bewilderment.

By this time the rest of the group had caught up. Zoey came over to them.

"Hey!" She greeted. "I made it to the prom" she told Quinn playfully.

"Uh yeah! And apparently so did Chase!" Zoey laughed in response.

"Come on, let's go dance before this prom ends."

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Quinn pulled Zoey over to her once they made it onto the dancefloor. "So, looks like you found a date after all" she said, motioning over in Chase's direction.

"Not just a date, a boyfriend!" Zoey exclaimed happily.

Quinn opened her mouth in excitement before squealing in delight.

"Oh my God! Finally!" She shrieked, pulling her into a hug.

"I know! Everything happened so fast I just can't believe he's really here!" As Quinn nodded her enthusiasm, Zoey started to look around concernedly.

"Hold on, Quinn, where's Dustin?"

Not wanting to handle this on her own, Quinn looked over to where Logan was dancing off to her right, willing him to see the look on her face, clearly asking him for a save. He noticed, thank God. But the guilt was now painfully apparent on both of their faces.

"Oh, he uh…he kinda…left." She told her, no longer able to put off her response.

Zoey looked lost. "Why would he lea—"

"Me and Quinn are dating." Logan stated abruptly, trying to help Quinn out of the situation by putting his arm around her shoulders.

Zoey's expression switched from lost to stunned. "Wait, you two are **dating**?!"

"Wow, okay I _really_ did not see that one coming" Chase said from behind her in his usual dry witted humor, having overheard only the last part of the conversation.

Zoey looked as if she might ask a hundred questions all at once, but Quinn stopped her before she could say anything else.

"It's a long story. I promise I'll tell you later. But um, Dustin's fine he just, might be a little upset with me."

Zoey gave Quinn a disapproving eye but ultimately decided to let it go…for now. Quinn turned to Logan. "That reminds me, maybe you should actually say something to her." She said, referring to Stacey. At first, he gave Quinn the same _do I have to?_ look as he did when she told him to ask Stacey to the prom in the first place. But this time, he knew she was probably right. He walked the few feet over to where Stacey was dancing with…_Mark_ (bizarrely enough).

He tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey. Stacey. I'm really sorry I asked you to the prom as a cover up date." It sounded a little forced and uncomfortable, but it was an apology nonetheless.

"Oh, hi Logan," she laughed, "it's okay. You see when I ran out of the prom sobbing, Mark hit me with Michael's car and cured my lisp!" She shrugged happily. "So it was worth it." She paused. "Oh, and I'm happy for you and Quinn." She directed her words at Quinn now. "I suppose." It was clear she still wasn't all that pleased with losing her chance at trading in her last name for Logan's, but she'd forget about it in time. She turned her attention back to Mark and grabbed him rather roughly by the shirt collar.

"Come on Del Figgalo. Let's dance."

Logan was still trying to process what just happened when he made it back over to Quinn.

"Well, what did she say?" She asked.

"Um, a lot. And all with…perfect S's." He shook his head. This night was turning out to be rather eventful.

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As Michael slowly made his way back to the main entrance, he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Did he really just imagine that entire thing? Did Takato seriously _not_ exist? And whywas he riding a bull? Did the bull not exist either? Was he actually going crazy this time?

The only thing he did know for sure, was that he wasn't about to let this one go.

He was padding his way down the path in particular distress, when he heard the unmistakably sweet voice of Lisa calling his name. Okay, maybe for now he could let it go.

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With only a few songs left in the lineup, the most fashionably late couple of the evening finally made their entrance.

"I'm here!"

"It's my fault we're late" Vince stated upfront, before Lola could pin any of the blame on him herself.

"Did we miss anything good?" The irony in her words could have resulted in a different response from almost everyone in the group, but Michael and Chase were the first ones to step up to the plate.

"Nah you didn't miss much."

"Nothing important." Chase said, awaiting her inevitable surprise.

"Oh good, cause—CHASE!" She jumped into his arms. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed her friend until he was somehow standing right there in front of her.

After a brief reunion, the last upbeat song of the night kicked off with appropriate vigor.

Somewhere during the middle of it, Vince leaned over to Chase.

"Oh! I'm sorry for beating you up by the way!"

Chase looked at him, thoroughly confused, still uncertain of how Vince was even here to begin with.

"Um, thanks?"

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Eventually, the fast, heavy bass music ebbed away into a melodic ballad, and the band announced last call to the dancefloor.

Groups broke away from each other, and everyone went off in search of the person they came with.

In the many turns of events that followed their confessions earlier in the night, the attention had slowly faded away from Quinn and Logan. But now, as couples paired off for the last slow dance, they knew those of their friends who hadn't yet figured it out, would likely now become aware of their no longer secret status as a couple. But that was okay, explanations would be given in due time. Right now, they owned the moment.

He placed his hand out in front of her in a gentlemanly way.

"May I have this dance?"

She beamed at him. "Well of course."

He smiled and pulled her in as she rested her arms around his neck. She stifled a laugh as she took notice of something behind them. "Don't look now, but Shirtless Dave is now Shirtless-With-Suspenders Dave and he's here with Make-Out Mandy."

Logan couldn't help but take a quick glance behind him. He snickered as he took in the sight of Dave wearing nothing but dress shoes, white slacks and suspenders as he sucked face with Mandy in the corner.

"You'd think we set them up or something." He said dumbfoundedly. "Think we made the right call?" Logan asked facetiously.

"Oh, we definitely made the right call." She laughed.

"Quinn?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Instant butterflies. She could hear it a million more times and she still wouldn't be over it.

"I love you too." She could picture those words easily becoming her new favorite thing to say.

He held her closer as they both relaxed into each other, swaying gently.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned in close to his neck, whispering almost seductively into his ear.

"This is so much better than the janitor's closet."

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**As always, please review! Reviews are what keep me going! **

**Again, this is only chapter 1! More to come soon. Make sure to follow this story if you want to be sent an update when new chapters are posted. **

**~Heather **


	2. Chapter 2 - A Sunday Drive

**Hey guys!**

**So, you know how the summary of this fanfic says that, in addition to the Quogan storyline, ****most of the other storylines from Chasing Zoey will also be addressed in detail? Well this is one of those other storylines. Trust me though, I think you're going to like it! Also, I may have snuck a little bit of Quogan in here somewhere for those of you, like me, who just can't live without it ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Zoey 101 or any of the show's characters. **

/

It was Sunday morning, and fairly good student as he was, Michael Barret normally wouldn't have been caught dead in the library this early on a Sunday. But he was here on a mission. The events of last night still fresh in his mind, he was more determined than ever to _prove_, more to himself at this point than to anyone else, that he wasn't crazy.

/

It was a Sunday morning, and below-average student as he was, fourteen-year-old Eric Navy sat patiently in the PCA library, waiting for his tutoring session to begin. He killed the time by doodling, as he often did in class when his brain started to twist the writing on the board into a jumbled mess.

It's not that he didn't care about school, but the other boys in his class caught on to things much more quickly than he did, and he didn't want to seem stupid, so instead he played it cool. If he pretended he wasn't actually trying at all, it would seem like he was just too good for any of it. "_I'll try when it's worth it."_ He would say to his friends, who all bought into his ruse. Some of them were even jealous of him, lamenting on about how they wished _their _parents would just let them get away with failing tests every once in a while.

Eric's parents did **not** in fact "just let him get away with failing tests every once in a while."But they knew that their son was not really the carefree troublemaker he made himself out to be to his classmates. They recognized that he actually tried harder than most kids, but unfortunately, Eric's dyslexia didn't care if he was a hard worker or not; the learning disorder made his life difficult either way.

That's why, when he was eleven years old and failing out of public school in his small Arizona town, his parents made the difficult decision to put every penny they had into sending Eric to California to attend boarding school at Pacific Coast Academy, to try and give him a better chance at succeeding. It was a stimulating learning environment, and Eric did start to see improvement through the rest of year six and year seven. However, year eight was proving to be more challenging for him, and he was starting to fall behind again. But with a reputation for employing some of the best teachers in the country, PCA had all of the resources available to ensure that Eric was getting the help he needed. Of course, there were good teachers, and then there were teachers like—

/

"Mr. Takato" Michael said out loud to himself for the hundredth time as he flipped through yet another PCA faculty yearbook. And just like the last twelve he'd searched, this one turned up nothing; not even a name which closely resembled that of Mr. Takato. He was beginning to feel duped.

Maybe…maybe someone was playing a really elaborate end-of-semester prank on him. There were only two people he knew who had ever successfully made him think he was going crazy, and they were Chase (who was pretty much off the hook since he had only just reentered the country less than twenty-four hours ago) and—

/

"Logan! Your phone is ringing…It's Michael!" Quinn yelled down the hall to the boys' communal bathroom where Logan was brushing his teeth.

He called back to her as best he could with a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Ohey bahb, mayhe ya cuh anher hit fuh meh?!"

"Sure!" She replied happily.

She flipped it open and pressed it to her ear. "Hey, Michael."

"Logan, listen to me, did y—Quinn?" He could have sworn he dialed Logan's number.

"Yeah?" She asked casually.

"B-but, I-I _swear_ I called Logan's number! Aw man, I really am going crazy!" He panicked in a hushed voice, seeing as he was still in the library.

Quinn laughed, amused, on the other end of the conversation. "Jeez relax, it's Logan's phone. He just asked me to answer it for him since he's brushing his teeth."

Michael breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank God."

Quinn narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Okay, what is going on?"

Michael regathered his thoughts. "Look, just ask Logan if he's been doing anything to mess with me lately."

As if on cue, Logan walked back into the room, bottle of mouthwash in tow. "What does he want?" He asked nonchalantly.

"To know if you've been doing anything to mess with him." Quinn parroted.

At this point Michael was getting annoyed with this game of telephone. "Just pass the phone to Logan." He commanded.

"Fine." She held the phone out to Logan. "Here."

"Dude, what?" Logan asked impatiently.

"Don't lie to me Reese, do you know about Mr. Takato?" He said, getting straight to the point.

"Mr. Ta-_who_-to?" Logan asked, clearly not in the loop.

Michael was starting to lose faith in his theory. "So you're saying, that you don't know _anything_ about the tuna, the grapes, the stick shift, Mr. Takato, or the bull he was riding on last night? Right?"

"Um, I know you _have_ a stick shift, which by the way is a total piece of junk." He said arrogantly.

"Hm, that's funny. I don't recall asking for your opinion." Michael said in the high-pitched, sarcastic tone he used when he was irritated.

"That's okay, consider it a gift." Logan dug back at him, laughing snidely at his own joke.

Quinn could tell just from hearing Logan's side of the conversation that this discussion was getting nowhere. She reached over and snatched the phone out of Logan's hand. He looked at her as if he were insulted but didn't do anything to stop her. She put the phone up to her ear.

"Okay enough! Michael, could you please just explain what's going on?"

Quinn listened as he recounted the events which led up to where he was now, sitting on the library floor surrounded by faculty yearbooks. She didn't seem phased by the time he got to the end of his story. If anything, she seemed entertained.

"Did you ever consider that maybe it was just some random old guy who lied about working here just so you'd make him his lunch in return for what he could conveniently turn into a lesson on how to drive a stick shift?" She laughed a little at what sounded to be the reality of the situation.

Michael paused in thought for a minute.

"And the bull?" He questioned.

Quinn shrugged. "Lots of people have domesticated pets that are uncommon in most households." She said, alluding to Otis, one of her own rather uncommon domesticated pets.

"Hu." Michael nodded his head. "You know what, Quinn? I think you're right. Thank you." He stated confidently, contented with the idea of this explanation. It _would _give an answer to some of the more nonsensical aspects of the story.

"You're welcome. And Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Please tell me you've thought to just look him up online if you're so interested." She said, deadpanned.

He could have kicked himself. "Oh, uh, yeah, of course I have! I gotta go." He said hurriedly before hanging up.

Quinn smiled smugly at Logan. "See? A logical solution for everything." She said, feeling pleased with herself.

He shook his head. "Nah, he's probably just crazy." He laughed, taking a swig of mouthwash and spitting it into a plant by the door.

"Logan!" Quinn gasped, "That is gross." She chided.

"No it's not! Now the plant has good breath and so do I." He said invitingly.

She scoffed at him, but it turned into a laugh.

"Oh yeah? I'm not sure I believe you." Her voice was alluring.

"Well, I mean you can check for yourself, but I don't really see how you're gonna go about making out with the plant."

"Shut up, jerk" She laughed, and within seconds his lips were pressed against hers.

/

Michael stared at the Zaplook home screen, feeling hesitant. Maybe Quinn was right. Maybe Mr. Takato was just some weird unemployed dude who knew how to drive a stick shift, liked tuna fish and grape juice, owned a pet bull, and had way too much time on his hands. The explanation was still odd, but at least it meant he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

Though, there was something about it, that didn't sit right with Michael. Mr. Takato didn't seem like a crazy old man. Unconventional yes, but not the kind of person to wander aimlessly around a school he never really worked at. Maybe he was _retired_ from PCA, and had memory loss, believing that he still taught classes there. But if that were the case, why wasn't his name in any of the older faculty yearbooks he'd looked in? And the part about saying he didn't exist? That was a little harder to get passed.

The cursor blinked at him. "_ , teacher, PCA" _He typed into the search bar. He hovered over the "ENTER" key, pausing in trepidation.

It's not that he was above believing that this may have been some sort of paranormal encounter. Especially not after the whole Charles Galloway thing pretty much verified that ghosts, to his horror, definitely do exist. It's just that he really, _really_ wanted there to be a less terrifying answer to all of this. He'd sooner check himself into a mental hospital than deal with another ghost.

"ENTER" He clicked.

On its own, "_Mr._ _Takato" _brought up plenty of search results. Takato was apparently a common last name in California. But results also including the keywords_ teacher _and _PCA_ were less abundant. Except of course, for the top result.

Michael's vision almost began to distort as he read the blue letters bolded in the heading.

_**DAVID TAKATO: AUGUST 18**__**TH**__** 1910 –**_

/

_May 12__th__, 1968 _Eric dated the top of his paper.

"You're early." A voice came from behind him.

He turned to see his math teacher, Mr. Takato, walking towards him.

"Early is on time and on time is late. Isn't that what you always tell us?"

"Indeed." He replied, setting down his briefcase and pulling up a chair beside his student. "Now, tell me what it is that you're having the most trouble with."

Eric knew he was having trouble with a lot of things, but there was one type of problem in particular that he had yet to ever solve correctly.

"I don't know how to get the slope." He confessed.

"Ah, yes, calculating the slope of a line may look challenging, but it can actually be quite easy to do."

"Well not for me because I never do it right." Eric grumbled.

"Well we are going to change that." He told him confidently. He took Eric's pencil from his hand and moved his paper so that it lay in the space between both of them. He swiftly sketched out a graph, marked intervals of one through ten on both the X and Y axis, and drew an upward sloping line through the middle. Off to the side, he wrote out the formula:

_(y__2__-y__1__)/(x__2__-x__1__)_

"I want you to pick two points along the line." He told Eric.

"That part I can do." He said, and proceeded to scribble two small dots, one near the bottom of the line, and one closer to the top.

"Good. Now, what comes next?"

"I find the X and Y values of each point and put them into the formula."

"Can you try that for me?"

Eric stared at his paper as if he'd already been defeated. Even when things were clearly labeled, he struggled. Y's started to look like X's, X's started to look like Y's and his couldn't differentiate the proper order of the numbers describing his two points.

"I can't" He said dejectedly.

Mr. Takato was aware of Eric's dyslexia, but he wasn't about to give the boy the opportunity to give up on himself because of it. He noticed the small airplanes that had been doodled into the margins of his paper. Unbeknownst to Eric, Mr. Takato had taken note of his constant doodling in class, but rather than deter him, he instead committed Eric's love of aviation to memory.

"Close your eyes." Eric did as he was told, but he made no attempt to hide the critical expression on his face. Sometimes he just didn't get Mr. Takato.

"Eric, what does a plane do before it can take off?"

"It…goes down the runway." He said, confused.

"Right. And then what?"

"And…then it takes off?"

"Correct. And in what direction does the plane go when it takes off?"

Eric was getting frustrated. "How is this supposed to hel—"

"What direction?" Mr. Takato pressed.

"Up." Eric said simply.

"Open your eyes."

He opened them.

"Go down the runway, then go up."

Eric started to put two and two together. _Down the runway, then up. _He looked at his graph, and slid his finger along the bottom, and then moved it up, to meet his first point on the line. _The number on the runway must come before the number in the sky. _He labeled his point.

_(3, 5) _

He repeated his method with the second point.

_(7, 9)_

"Excellent."

Eric still seemed unsure. "But, how do I use the formula—"

"The planes in the air fly over the planes on the runway." Mr. Takato stated concisely.

Eric looked at the formula, then to his points, then back to the formula.

"So…the second numbers of the points are the planes in the air. They go on top. The first numbers of the points are the planes on the runway. They go on the bottom." Eric thought aloud. He was finally starting to get it. He went to fill in the formula with his numbers, when he realized that he wasn't sure which of the numbers on top was supposed to get subtracted from the other. He looked at Mr. Takato for assistance.

"The planes in the second point of your graph are the ones you have to subtract first, because they're about to fly off the page." He said, guiding him in an almost animated voice.

Eric hid a small smile as he wrote out his numbers.

_(9-5)/(7-3)_

"Nine minus five is four, and seven minus three is four. So, the slope of the line is four over four." Eric said, walking himself through the math.

"And what is four over four equal to, Eric?"

"One. It's equal to one. So, the slope of the line is…one?"

Mr. Takato nodded his head approvingly. "That is correct."

Eric's jaw could have dropped. "That's correct? I'm correct?!" He couldn't believe himself. "I finally solved a slope problem….I SOLVED IT!" It was the first time in weeks he hadn't felt like he was stupid.

He stood up out of his chair and lifted his fists to the air in victory. "_Finally_!"

Mr. Takato laughed, pleased to see Eric so satisfied with himself.

/

By the end of the hour, Mr. Takato had given Eric hope that he might actually pass tomorrow's math exam. Who knows? Maybe he would even get an A for once.

It was nearly noon now, and as Mr. Takato took his lunch from his briefcase, Eric sat reflecting on his work.

"Why did I have to close my eyes? Like before, when I solved the slope problem, why did I have to close my eyes first?"

Mr. Takato took a pause before answering.

"There is an ancient Chinese philosopher, by the name of Lao Tzo, who once said, _nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished._"

Eric wasn't sure how that response was supposed to answer his question.

"You'll find that when you slow yourself down, the brain speeds up. Your eyes were looking at the problem and trying to solve every step at one time. I needed you to start, by focusing on the first step, and then the second step, and then the third step. Taking the time you need to do something correctly, is not the same thing as wasting it, Eric.

It was interesting to Eric, that often times nothing Mr. Takato said or did made any sense until there came a moment, usually at the end of a lesson, when you realized you had actually been learning exactly what it was that you needed to.

"Would you like to share half of this sandwich with me, Eric?" He asked, snapping Eric out of his thoughts.

Eric looked at Mr. Takato's lunch. A tuna fish sandwich and grape juice. Same as always.

"Oh, um thank you, but I think I'll pass." He said, wrinkling his nose up a bit at the smell of the tuna fish.

Mr. Takato chuckled at Eric's distaste.

/

As Eric cut across the faculty parking lot that intersected between the library and his dormitory, he noticed Mr. Takato walking to his car.

"Mr. Takato! _That's_ your car?!" Eric said in astonishment. Sitting alone in the lot, was a brand-new Chevy Camaro convertible.

Mr. Takato turned and smiled, tapping the hood of the car affectionately.

"Sometimes I still can't believe it myself" He laughed.

"Is that for good luck or something?" Eric asked, pointing to the small silver chain, looped around the car's rearview mirror. On the end of the chain was a charm, brandishing the outline of a bull.

"The bull is a symbol of hard work and determination, which are the very things that bought me this car." He told Eric proudly.

Eric nodded. "One day, when I become a pilot, I should put one of those in my plane."

He smiled.

"Indeed, Eric."

With that, Mr. Takato got into his car, started the engine, put it in first gear, and drove away. Eric watched until the car went over the horizon, out of sight.

/

It was 8:01am, and Mr. Takato, a man known for being early to his class, was late.

The boys all craned their heads, looking around at each other and shrugging, some of them looking grateful to have a few extra minutes to study over their notes before the exam. Eric tapped his fingers nervously on the desk. He felt ready, but that didn't change the fact that exams gave him copious anxiety. He closed his eyes and tried to replay Mr. Takato's words in his head.

"_Go down the runway, then go up._"

"_The planes in the air go over the ones on the runway."_

"_The planes in the second point of your graph are the ones you have to subtract first, because they're about to fly off the page."_

"_Take your time, Eric. You will solve the problem faster." _

The sound of the classroom door opening interrupted his mental review session. But instead of Mr. Takato, it was the Dean and several of his assistants, who walked into the room.

The boys all stood up and faced forward as they were supposed to, any time an academic authority figure entered.

The Dean made his way to the front, looking a little disheveled.

"Hello, boys. Please be seated."

They sat, but side glances and confusion were starting to spread throughout the class. The Dean's voice sounded distracted, and hollow. They were all starting to wonder what he was doing here when they should have already been, now seven minutes, into their math exam.

He placed his folders down on the front desk and looked up at them, pausing for what felt like hours.

"Let me start off by saying, that I'm very sorry to be the one to have to tell you boys this. But, yesterday afternoon, your instructor, Mr. Takato, was in a car accident." The room fell still. One of the boys in the back was brave enough to break the silence.

"Is he coming back?"

The Dean took a sharp breath in and then seemed to forget to exhale. He cleared his throat.

"The car accident…was a very bad car accident, boys. A fatal one." Every eye in the room widened. "Again, I'm very sorry." His words gave the impression that he knew there wasn't much else he could say to soften the blow. "It goes without saying that your exam has been canceled for today, as we begin working to appoint an interim instructor for the course."

It wasn't what anyone wanted to hear, but he had a job to do, and unfortunately, replacing teachers who had passed away while still employed at PCA was part of that job.

"I understand that you all may have more questions, but at the moment, this is the only information I am at liberty to share with you. I will be in my office later, if you'd like to stop by. Otherwise, for today, your class has been dismissed."

No one moved.

Eric was frozen in his chair. He remembered four years ago, when his mom had told him that his Uncle Thomas died. She had come into his room crying, and said that she was very sorry but there was some bad news she had to tell him.

But Uncle Thomas was sick when he died. He had been sick for a long time and his family had talked about him dying before.

Mr. Takato was not sick. He was in the library yesterday morning. He'd had a tuna fish sandwich and grape juice for lunch. Eric had watched him get into his new car and drive off. It didn't make sense, that he could be dead now.

"Eric?"

"Eric?"

"Eric?!"

Eric couldn't hear his friend beside him, trying to get his attention. He didn't realize that he'd squeezed his eyes shut, covered them with the palms of his hands, and had begun to rock back and forth, repeating the words to himself.

"_It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sen—_

/

"IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!" Michael nearly screamed out loud. But as much as he didn't want to believe it, things were starting to make perfect sense.

He came close to falling out of his chair as he stared at the screen in front of him. Staring back at him, was a picture of Mr. Takato, smiling while standing beside a car that looked almost identical to his. Written below the picture, was a small description.

"_PCA remembers: David Takato_

_Teaching 7__th__ and 8__th__ grade mathematics at PCA for over ten years, Mr. Takato was beloved by all. His students knew him for his unique approach to learning, and often graduated from his classes feeling like they had taken a valuable lesson with them. Unfortunately, Mr. Takato passed away at the age of 58, on May 12__th__, 1968, after another driver lost control of their vehicle, and struck his vehicle in a head-on collision. _

_Those wishing to honor or pay their respects to David Takato, are directed to visit the PCA memoriam site, located just two miles outside of the PCA campus, at the address listed below."_

Michael read the words over and over until they no longer had meaning. He looked at the URL of the page he was on.

_PCAmemoriam/archive_

It was a website dedicated to all of the faculty, staff and students who had ever passed away while attending or employed at PCA. Prior to this moment, he never knew the website or the off campus memoriam site existed.

He thought about what he should do next. Should he run out of the library, screaming in terror that he had been taught how to drive a stick shift by the ghost of a PCA math teacher? Should he call Lisa, and tell her that there was _in fact _a Mr. Takato, but that he was just no longer living? Should he close his eyes _really _tightly and hope that this was all a dream?

He found himself running back over to the stack of faculty yearbooks he had taken off of the shelves. He hadn't thought to look in ones that dated as far back as 1968, but sure enough, there was his name and picture, in every yearbook from 1958 up until 1968; the year he had died.

He wasn't sure how he went from sitting inside of the library to sitting behind the wheel of his car so quickly, but he knew exactly where he was headed, and he knew it wouldn't take him long to get there.

/

_**DAVID TAKATO: AUGUST 18**__**TH,**__**1910— May 12**__**th**__**, 1968**_

Michael's eyes couldn't seem to fully adjust to the letters carved into worn, but still smooth, granite plate, laying at base of his feet.

It was real. All of it was real. He'd realized it while looking at the screen of the library computer and within the pages of the yearbooks, but something about seeing it in stone, felt more personal.

He was suddenly aware that his eyes were having trouble adjusting because there were tears in them.

He looked at the rows of granite plates surrounding him. So many PCA students and teachers, who's lives had been cut short.

Michael's own voice sounded foreign to him as he spoke.

"I don't know why you picked me, Mr. Takato. And I mean, I don't know how any of this is even…possible, but, I guess I just came here, because I wanted to say thank you. If it wasn't for you, well I actually wouldn't be at this memorial site right now anyway because I'd still be in the parking lot with a tree on top of my car." He smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, man. I'm sure you were a great teacher."

"He was." The voice that came from behind Michael startled him so much he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Walking up to him, was a man who looked to be in his mid-50's, wearing a cleanly pressed white button up, which was tucked neatly into his black slacks.

"I'm sorry, young man, I didn't mean to sneak up on you." He said apologetically. "I suppose I'm just a little surprised to see someone else coming to visit him.

"You knew Mr. Takato?" Michael asked.

"I did." He replied stoically. There was a solemnness to his voice that implied the pain of this man's loss remained fresh, even after forty years.

He stood beside Michael in silence for some time before speaking again.

"The man lived through The Great Depression, two World Wars, and grew up watching his parents face oppression for wanting to give their son a better life, all to be killed in a car accident that wasn't his fault. It just doesn't seem fair. But if there's any light to the story, it's that he was able to spend the last ten years of his life doing what he loved. He was a happy man when he died, and I saw that for myself. That's the part I try to hold onto…if you don't mind me asking, how do you of know him?"

Michael decided wisely against telling this man about how he really knew Mr. Takato.

"We're doing a report in my history class where we have to research someone who was a big part of PCA history. When I found out about what an amazing teacher Mr. Takato was, I guess I just felt like I had to do my report on him."

The man nodded his head, putting his hand up to his chin in thought.

"Hu. That's interesting, I would expect most students to go the easier route and pick the Dean's grandfather or something." He laughed. "Good for you though." He looked back down at the weathered stone. "I'm glad someone at PCA still remembers him. I haven't visited this memorial site myself in years, but work brought me into town for a few days, so, I figured I'd try to stop by and give him something I've been meaning to give him for a while now." He said, referring to a small item in his hand that Michael hadn't realized he was holding.

He knelt down, and gently placed a pair of pilot's wings by Mr. Takato's name.

It's funny, I almost thought I was going crazy when I pulled up behind your car. '68 Chevy Camaro… just like his."

Michael could empathize with the feeling of craziness.

"My apologizes, I don't believe I ever properly introduced myself." The man said, standing up and extending his hand out.

Michael smiled and reached out his own arm, exchanging a firm handshake with him.

"My name is Eric."

"I'm Michael. It's very nice to meet you, Eric."

/

**This chapter was a true labor of love. I really started to feel connected to this story and these characters as I was writing them, and as I put more and more thought into what the backstory of Mr. Takato could look like, everything just started to fall into place. I did my absolute best to make everything as factually accurate as possible; researching both the Zoey 101 timeline/universe, and the culture/history of the Chinese-American population. I hope I did them both justice. **

**To those of you who are here primarily for the Quogan storyline, in addition to the storylines of some of the other characters, I promise those will make their reappearance in the next chapter!**

**I would genuinely appreciate your reviews on this chapter though, as the majority of it was based entirely off of my own imagination. **

**As always, thank you so much for reading. The next chapter is being written as we speak!**

**~Heather **


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